


tomorrow always comes

by caydiink (gayleb)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Demonic Possession, Dream In Prison, Dreamon Theory, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Manipulation, Memories, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Possession, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, its a dream in prison fic what did u expect, lmao rip to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayleb/pseuds/caydiink
Summary: Dream sat in the cell, legs splayed out in front of him, knuckles rapping rhythmically on the cold obsidian floor, a small pile of blood forming beneath his hand as his skin was slowly rubbed away by the rough stone.It was cold. Dream couldn’t find it in himself to care.Everyone said it was lonely at the top. He hadn’t known just how much it would hurt.AKA im a basic bitch and wrote a quick Dream in prison oneshot bc god damn that finale i am Looking
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 550





	tomorrow always comes

Dream sat in the cell, legs splayed out in front of him, knuckles rapping rhythmically on the cold obsidian floor, a small pile of blood forming beneath his hand as his skin was slowly rubbed away by the rough stone.

It was cold. Dream couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Everyone said it was lonely at the top. He hadn’t known just how much it would hurt.

Dream knew, ever since his plan had formed, mind racing, ten steps ahead of everyone, even himself at times, that he had to do this alone.

No matter how much he wanted his friends by his side, or how much he wanted to fall into their arms and be held until the horror of everything he had done washed away, or how he wished for things to just be normal again, to be welcomed back with open arms, Dream knew it couldn’t end any other way.

This was always the plan. Dream knew this was coming.

_So why did he feel this fucking awful?_

His skin felt too tight and the cell felt too small, the walls closing in on him from within the darkness he now resided in.

The lamp that had, at one point, illuminated his cell was now dark, the fuel having run out a couple of days into his stay, no one bothering to refuel it.

But that was fine. Dream didn’t need to see. He didn’t need the light, the comfort it had brought him, however small it may have been.

Dream didn’t deserve luxuries such as vision. He knew that now.

His body ached, finally, it was _his._ Not whatever had clawed its way into his mind.

_(Dream hated how, in the quietest moments, where he couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, no matter how much he clawed at his skin or clawed at the wall he couldn’t quiet it, he missed the demon._

_He found himself crying out for its presence, longing for the comfort it had brought him, the assurance that, no matter what, at least he wasn’t alone._

_It was fucked up, but what in Dream’s life wasn’t these days?_

_No matter what he had done, Dream had always had the voice in his head, its presence in his mind, claws slowly digging into his flesh as it drew him further and further from his own body, claiming it inch by inch as its own._

_Dream could still feel it, sometimes._

_He hated himself, for the small burst of hope he would feel, quickly morphing into disgust._

_What sort of man missed the monster they had become?)_

Dream tried to keep track of how long he had been in there, tracking how often a loaf of bread would be dropped into his cell, most loaves left untouched in the corner.

Eventually he gave up. It didn’t really matter how long he was in here after all.

All that mattered was that he wasn’t getting out.

Dream kept replaying, over and over, what had gotten him in here in the first place.

_(“Put your armour in the hole Dream.”_

_Dream looked at the teen, so different from the bright, loud, energetic kid he had been only a year ago. Far too mature for his age, shoulders heavy with the weight he’d been forced to carry._

_He stared at the hole in front of him, head aching as he felt Nightmare’s claws pulling away, fleeing the form it had known was doomed._

_Dream shook as his head pounded and his eyes watered, meeting Tommy’s eyes from behind the mask._

_Was this how he felt? All those months, the fear and disgust and terror and helplessness building for days and weeks, taking more than just his items?_

_Dream felt sick. He had watched Tommy, trying his best to force Nightmare back, to comfort the boy as best as he could, before being thrown from his own mind yet again, forced to watch everything unfold, trapped within his own body._

_Is this how Tommy saw him? Was this what he had endured at his hands, never truly his?_

_Dream took his armour off, dropping it into the hole._

_His hands shook as his head spun, and Dream wasn’t sure what happened next, he wasn’t sure if the voices he heard were real or still in his head, but suddenly there was pain on his neck and blood drenching his shirt and everything went black.)_

He wasn’t sure when it had all gone wrong.

Was it when Tommy joined? Could Dream really blame him, for simply wanting a home? Is that not what Dream himself had yearned for all those years?

Was it when the drug van was made? The fear Dream had felt, watching two teenagers get mixed up in stuff they shouldn’t have been exposed to, their innocence already soiled by this fucking server.

Or was it doomed from the start? Ever since Dream formed this server, built it from the ground up, willing it to be, creating a home for himself and his friends. Somewhere they could live without worry or fear.

Somewhere they could live, free from everything that had sent them all running.

Dream wasn’t sure in the end. Maybe there was no single moment. There was nothing they had done wrong.

This end was inevitable. A series of mistakes, mistaken choices and questionable morals, tensions building and conflicts rising and empires falling, everything leading up to this very moment.

_(Or was it that day in the woods all those years ago?_

_The day Dream had finally learned what true fear was. A child, new to the world and everything it had to offer, unaware of the danger that lurked beneath the shadows, waiting for him to just come closer before swallowing him whole._

_Was it the day that a ten year old walked into the forest, eyes wide in awe at the world around him, before walking out as something else._

_Something wrong. Unnatural._

_Ever since that day, resting beneath his skin, just out of reach no matter how much he scratched, bitten nails digging into once soft flesh._

_He had felt it in his bones, waiting._

_Dream never had a chance. He was young, inexperienced, filled with the hubris every child is born with, and had believed himself untouchable until he was grabbed by the darkness and dragged beneath its surface into its waiting arms._

_Maybe it had all started the day the voices began._

_There was no use dwelling on it now. It was gone from his body, every inch of its being torn from Dream’s body, leaving him to rot in his cell._

_Completely, and utterly alone.)_

It didn’t matter when it began.

There was no changing his fate now.

Dream’s nails, bitten and bloody, fingertips torn from his teeth and the obsidian walls, dried blood caked beneath whatever remained of nails, clawed across the wall aimlessly, leaving a fresh trail of blood in their wake.

The pain was grounding, it helped him remember he was real. He was alive. He was still a person.

_(But was he?_

_What sort of person did everything he had done? He hadn’t been in control for most of it, but he could’ve tried harder. He could’ve done more when he finally tore his mind from its grasp._

_Did a person do everything he had done, possessed or not, it was still him._

_Nightmare may have left him, but it had taken his humanity with it._

_Dream had never felt more like the villain he had been forced to play, left to rot in this room with nothing to keep him company but the voices that echoed in his mind.)_

There was nothing else to do.

Dream sat in the darkness, unsure if his eyes were open or shut, not like it made a difference. No matter what he did or where he sat, his vision would be greeted with nothing other than the ever consuming dark.

He waited for the day the void finally claimed him, tearing every last trace of him off of this earth, any proof that he existed, any proof that he mattered destroyed along with him.

His stomach was empty, aching beneath his skin, crying out for something.

But Dream couldn’t find it in himself to eat. Why should he?

It’s not like it would make a difference.

In the cold, lonely, emptiness of his cell, days blurring together, the outside world slowly fading from memory the longer he sat there, Dream thought.

He thought even if he didn’t want to. Even if he slammed his head back into the obsidian, relishing in the blood that dripped down his face and got stuck in his hair, the now constant pounding of his skull a reminder that he was still himself.

Dream thought about everything he had lost. He thought about the friends who hated him, the family that had disowned him, the world he had built now taken from him.

Everything Dream had strived to achieve, the life he had struggled to build, to move on from his past and prove that he _could_ was now gone, and Dream had no hope of getting it back.

Sometimes, when the loneliness crept in and took hold of his lungs before he could react, squeezing the very breath from his chest and threatening to pull him down into the dark for the final time, Dream wrote.

He clawed at his arms until he drew blood, dipping one ruined finger into the wound, blindly scrawling across the floor of his cell, praying that it was legible.

_(As if anyone would read it. As if anyone would visit him, and care about what he had to say._

_He didn’t deserve to be heard, he didn’t deserve anything but this cell and this pain.)_

His blood was spread across the floor, mingling with the dried piles of it scattered across the floor, old and new blood mingling as his finger was torn open again, the pain only a distant memory.

_i’m sorry,_ he wrote, hand moving wildly in the darkness, _i can be good._

Dream moved onto the walls, forcing his shaking legs to support him as he stumbled his way through the dark until he met a wall, feeling the obsidian beneath his bloody fingers, hands twitching, the bones that had been shattered long ago by the force of the wall meeting his hand grinding together with every movement.

He kept writing, filling up all of the space available to him.

Words overlapped in the dark, the blood dripped down the wall before it could dry, but still Dream wrote.

_i didn’t mean to_

_forgive me_

_i can be better_

_i’ll listen this time_

_let me out_

_please let me out please fucking god_

_i’m alone_

_i can’t see_

_i don’t think i’m alone anymore_

_please come back_

Dream let out a choked sob as he fell to his knees, dropping down onto the obsidian painfully, every inch of his body aching as he hit the ground, slumping down against the wall.

Everything hurt. There was no escape from the pain or the darkness, he just had to sit there and bear it because it was all he could do.

The scar on his neck from where Tommy had slit his throat still burned. He could still feel the blade cutting effortlessly through his skin, the blood that drenched him still coating his shirt, now dried and stiff against his skin.

His stomach still ached, the uneven scar tissue from where the arrow had pierced his gut pulling at his skin.

Dream had deserved to die. Tommy had deserved to kill him.

He only wished the teen had finished the job.

Dream missed his family. He missed their warmth and their comfort and the memories they had made before everything went to shit.

When Dream saw the drug van, anger clouded his mind as he thought _why did it have to be the children? Why do they have to get involved in every single thing they shouldn’t?_ And then Dream’s voice wasn’t the only one in his mind.

He heard Nightmare whispering to him, calling out to him in the dead of night.

“Don’t you want to make it right?” it asked, whispering to Dream as he sat doubled over in his bed, drenched in sweat, shaking hands pulling at his hair.

“I can fix it all for you,” it called, “all you need to do is let me in. I can help them, I can _save them,_ just let me take control.”

Dream shook, body trembling and heart pounding, the voices in his head were so loud and his friends were nowhere to be seen and Dream was just so tired.

If Dream just said yes, everything would be okay.

This would all be fixed, and everything could go back to the way it used to be.

“Alright,” he said, shutting his eyes against the pain in his mind, and he relented.

_”Idiot,”_ it spat.

Dream never had a chance to scream.

In the dark of the cell, Dream was reminded of the void he had been stuck in for so long, no exit in sight, nothing left but his voice, screaming into the endless darkness.

Here in his cell, Dream screamed.

He yelled into the void, crying and shouting in rage and pain and guilt, knowing there was no one to hear him.

He cried until his throat burned and he coughed up drops of blood, spraying onto his hand and the floor in front of him, dripping down his chin.

Dream yelled at whatever god was out there, had brought him into this world only to watch him suffer as the world he had made revolted against him.

Dream screamed until he couldn’t, and then he kept trying, mouth open as he cried, no sound making its way out of his ruined throat.

He choked on the blood that filled his mouth and lungs, choking it down as tears fell, mixing in with the blood and grime that coated his skin

His eyes were vacant as he gazed ahead, nothing to see but the void that awaited him, death still far from his waiting grasp, praying that each day he sat in that cell would be his last.

Dream sat huddled in a corner, ruined, bloody hands gripping his arms tight enough to bruise, pretending that, in the darkness, his friends were there with him, holding him in their embrace, telling him it was okay.

He was forgiven. He was deserving of a second chance. He was worth more than what he had been forced to become. He could be more than his past.

It was nothing more than a fantasy, an attempt to take his mind from the cell, and dream of better days.

No matter how hard he tried though, Dream always woke up.

Alone in the cell, limbs shaking and body weak, pain radiating from every inch of him, Dream broke.

**Author's Note:**

> affdjhbfdhsgvhdfbhfg one day i will write a multichapter dream in prison fic, but today is not that day!! i will soon, i just need to think of an actual Plot dfnjfgfg
> 
> but i hope u enjoyed the generic prison angst bc it's always fun to write, the cell wasn't the same as the one in the actual prison bc i had started this a lil while ago but edited and finished it after the finale, but idc i went for the Angst
> 
> i hope u enjoyed it!! if u did pls consider leaving a comment/kudos bc they make me heart eyes, and check me out on insta @ caydiink
> 
> thank u all for making it this far <3 have a great day or smth :/


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